Why we are different
by RandomInsanityStorm
Summary: Why is Peter Pan so different? So innocent? So happy? Could he have had a twin sister? Could something have happened to make the word 'love' sound so off to him? bad summary i know. T for mentions of rape. Review if you want. I know it sucks.


I curled up in my twin, Jonathan's side while the cold wind banged our window. I was about a head shorter than he was, and my black hair was a severe contrast to his blonde. I got my black hair from my mother, and he his blue eyes, just as he got his blonde hair from our father and I my grey eyes. Our father was a king, a good, strong king with few enemies, their numbers grew less and less every day. Not because he killed them, no, he preferred to solve conflicts with patience and talk them through. He only reverted to violence when he had absolutely no other option.

As his kids, we thought we were his pride and joy. He spoiled us, but made sure we were well mannered and well behaved. Our mother taught us not to be rotten little children, but sweet, kind hearted angels.

We both looked the part, Jonathan with his blonde hair, blue eyes, even skin tone, and perfect, cherubic face, and I with my black hair, grey eyes that shone with laughter, even skin tone, and a face almost a mirror image of Jonathan's. There were a few differences, of course, as I am a girl and he is not. But other than that we were the same.

"Are you asleep?" Jace whispered. Jace is Jonathan's nickname.

"No," I replied.

"You wanna go listen in?" he asked.

"Yeah!"

We were mischievous, and we were eavesdropping. We had already explored every inch of the castle until there was nothing we didn't know about it. We decided to explore people now, and we started with Mother and Father. Grandmother Elizabeth was visiting.

"… And we could make peace with that king that you were talking about yesterday if we marry Victoria to his son, Byron," she said.

Jace looked horrified. "We're only eleven!" he hissed. "They can't think of taking my twinsie away!"

"Yes, but she is not yet 12," Mother said.

"Many girls are marrying at ages far younger than that," Father said. "And the other king has offered his daughter, Arabella's hand for Jace in order to make peace with us."

We looked on at each other in equal parts horror and sympathy. We didn't think about marriage yet, just having fun and messing around.

We slipped back into our room.

"There is no way I'm marrying that brat Byron!" I spat. "I will not!"

"And I can't stand Arabella! She is always simpering!" he said. "She's annoying!"

"Should we wait and see what happens?"

"We should," he agreed. "Let's get some sleep. We will tell Mother in the morning."

I curled up by him, and he put a protective arm around my shoulders. It is bad luck in our custom to keep twins apart as they're growing up, so they let us share a room and a bed. And we're always together, always.

I had a horrible dream, in which we were both cold, so cold. We couldn't get warm. It was so cold.

I woke up with a gasp. Jace grasped my wrist. "Back to bed. Still sleepy. Not morning yet," he said.

I smiled, "Good idea."

I snuggled back into his side, content to lie there for hours. I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, a servant opened the curtains and let the light shine in.

"Your Mother wants you up and dressed and ready for breakfast in twenty minutes," she said.

I smiled at her and got up to go into my dressing room. Three servants helped me get on my best dress, I didn't know why then.

It was a beautiful thing, the dress. It was white with a straight neckline and puffs around the top of my sleeves but tight the rest of the way down my sleeves. It was tight around my middle then puffed out around my legs.

Peter came out in his best suit with his hair styled.

"Why are they making us dress up?" I asked him. He shrugged.

We walked down the stairs, chatting away, but stopped dead when we saw the table. Two people who should not be there were.

"Mother," I said. "You didn't tell me we had guests."

Byron and Arabella sat at our table. They were absolutely not supposed to be here. Mother and Father know we hate them.

"Hello, Victoria," Byron said, raking his eyes over me. He was three years older than me, fourteen at the time.

"Hello," I replied, only out of politeness.

"Hello, Jace," Arabella simpered.

"Hello," he replied. "Good morning, Byron."

"Good morning," he replied.

"Hello, Arabella," I said. She was one year younger than us.

There were two open seats right next to each other. And on either side were Byron and Arabella.

"Where would you like me to sit?" I asked, as it is customary in our country.

"By Byron is fine, dear," Mother said. "And Jace, by Arabella."

"Why must you tell them where to sit? And why did she ask? Are they too stupid to not see the two open seats?" Byron asked.

"It is rude in our country to sit without being told where," she said.

He nodded and Jace and I started our breakfast. When Father came into the room, we all stood until he sat down.

"Good day, Byron, Arabella. I assume your rooms were adequate?" Father asked.

"Yes, sir," Byron said. "Most comfortable."

Arabella simpered again, "Very comfortable, sir."

Jace and I glanced at each other, it was worse than we thought.

We all made polite idle chatter throughout the meal, and when we were done, Byron asked me to go on a walk with him. It was in front of everyone, the clever little butt, so I couldn't just say no.

"Of course," I replied. I got up and he held out his arm. I put my hand in the crook of his arm and lifted my skirt with my other hand.

It was snowing lightly out as we walked through the rose orchard. It was a circle around there, but the furthest part you couldn't see it from the house.

That was where he lost the gentlemanly manner. He turned to me and pushed me onto the ground. His lips crushed mine. And I tried to push him off, but I wasn't strong enough.

He smirked. "We should get going. You're going to meet me at eight o'clock tonight in my room. You will love me like a proper wife should."

"I will do no such thing!" I hissed. "I will tell my mother, and she will send you out of our castle!"

"But who will believe you?" he asked. "After all, I am a prince, and adults love me."

"You are a vile, incomplete little piece of…" I started.

He backhanded me across my cheek. It knocked me to the ground. He whispered in my ear, "You tripped and fell on a rock. You will say nothing of this to anyone."

He pulled me up and made sure my hand was on his elbow. "We were running. Playing tag. You fell."

"I tripped. They'll send servants to move the rock," I said with tears in my eyes.

"Good girl," he said. We were back at the mansion.

The door opened, and my mother stepped out. "Oh, my dear, what happened to you?" she asked.

Byron glared at me. "I tripped," I lied. "We were running. Playing tag. I fell."

"Oh, poor dear," she said. "Let's get you some ice. Servant! Get some ice!"

The servant put some on my cheek. Byron put his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. I felt disgusted but he dug his fingers into my side and I put my head on his shoulder and my arm behind his back and around to his hip.

Jace flashed a concerned look my way. I didn't meet his eyes.

"Mother," Jace said, not taking his eyes off of me. "Victoria has had a rough morning. Perhaps she should get a change of clothes. The dress she has on is wet from snow."

"Yes," Mother said. "And we should have a fire made up for her."

Byron turned me towards the stairs but Jace grabbed his arm. "_I'll _take my sister to our room," he said. "Perhaps you can entertain Arabella for me."

They stared each other down for a few seconds before Byron said, "Sure. I'll just grab something to eat."

Jace led me up the stairs and into our room. "Ok, tell me. What's wrong with you?" he asked. "Where did you really get that bruise?"

"I told you, I tripped."

"You didn't trip." He raised his hand and put it exactly where my bruise was starting to form. I flinched. "That is the exact shape of a hand. Tell me the truth. Did he hit you?"

I turned and looked through my closet. "No."

"I don't believe you."

"Tori," he said in his most persuasive voice. "Please, tell me the truth! Did he hit you?"

I flinched. "No. He didn't. I tripped."

A few servants came in and put a shoji screen up so I could dress behind it. "Your mother said you were supposed to take a bath. She said it would calm your nerves."

"Would you get someone to run it for me?" I asked her.

She said, "Yes, miss," and left. A few seconds later she came back with a towel for me. "Here's your towel, Miss." I wrapped it around me and stepped out from behind the screen.

Jace followed me into our private bathroom. He turned away as I stepped into the sunken bathtub filled with bubbles and water. All that was above the water was my head. "You can leave now, girls. Please keep everyone away from the bathroom. Jace can stay though." They filed out of the bathroom and I waited until the door was closed and locked.

"Now that he can't hear us tell me, did he hit you?" Jace asked.

"Yes," I said.

"And why wouldn't you tell me?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell Mother?"

"She wouldn't have believed me. She would have said I was making up stories," I said.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"He was listening."

"You are paranoid." I started washing my hair. "But I can live with that. Here, let me." He grabbed the bottle of shampoo and sat on the edge of the bath. I felt him lathering the soap through my hair.

I relaxed a little, finally, the first time since that morning. "My cheek hurts," I said.

"Yes, it's a nasty bruise," he said, still rubbing his fingers through my hair. "What would you like me to do?"

"Nothing," I replied quickly. "I can take it. It's just one bruise."

Oh, but it wasn't just one bruise. There were many, many more after that. They were better hidden than the first.

I barely talked at all anymore, to anyone. Jace and I couldn't sleep in the same room. Byron wouldn't allow it.

The only time I was able to speak freely was when I was taking my bath. Jace always came in and sat on the edge of my bathtub. We would talk and talk and talk and talk. I could talk freely then, that's the only time Byron wasn't listening.

It was about a year since it started, the day Byron came. They stuck around, Arabella and Byron. And we couldn't get rid of them. I guess it was our looks, and not our attitudes.

My bath time became longer and longer. It became a safe place of sorts for me. Jace would always let me talk until I didn't want to anymore. When I didn't want to talk he would ramble on about something unimportant, covering any awkward silences.

Even in these times, I made sure he didn't see many bruises. He saw some, but only the ones I couldn't stop him from seeing.

But one day he came in a few seconds before I was able to get in my bath. There were deep bruises on my sides, chest, and back.

He glared at my bruises as I slipped down into the water.

"We're leaving. After your bath we're leaving. We're not coming back. Ever," he said. "We're disguising you as a boy so they'll never find us." His voice offered room for no argument. It was much easier to agree with him. He started washing my hair.

"Ok."

He looked pained. "A year ago you would have argued until you were blue in the face. Now you just say, 'Ok,' like it's nothing."

"It's easier to agree," I said. "That way I don't get hi…" I cut myself off.

He didn't reply, but his fingers were a little harder against my scalp than usual. But then he relaxed.

"Jace?"

"That's not going to be my name anymore," he said. "If we're going to run away we must do it properly. Call me Peter."

"You're serious?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "You should pick a name."

"Jynx," I said immediately. "And our last name if anyone should ask?"

"Hmm… Pan, the Greek god of wild places," Peter said. "Peter Pan, Jynx Pan. It works."

"How will we escape?"

"I'll get Mother to allow you to sleep in my bed, my bed… I don't like that term, and we'll run. We'll leave."

"Ok." I rinsed my hair and he started conditioning it.

"You haven't been eating well," he said, rubbing my hair through his fingers.

"I've been eating fine," I said defensively.

"No you haven't, you've lost about half a stone and you haven't grown an inch. You're getting mal-nourished. Is _he_ doing that to you too?"

"No. I… I just don't get hungry much anymore."

He saw right through my lie. "You'll never go hungry again. Not if I have anything to say about it." I pulled my hair away and rinsed the conditioner out. Once I rested back on the side of the bathtub again, Peter started rubbing my shoulders. "You need to relax."

I relaxed under his tender fingers. He was careful not to touch my bruises. Then he stopped. His fingers gently passed over my bruises. He must have noticed where they were.

"Did he touch you?" Peter asked. I didn't answer. "Please, Jynx, I need to know! You have to tell me!" I still didn't say a word. He sighed, frustrated. "Did he hurt you?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore," I said.

"Anymore? He's… done it to you so many times it doesn't hurt anymore?" he hissed.

I flinched away from his fingers. His tone was angry. I moved to the other side of the bathtub.

"Jynx," he said softly. "I didn't mean to scare you. Are you ok?"

I breathed out. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Jynx, if that scares you, you're in worse condition than ever. We have to get you out of there before he kills that light that you keep going. I know he's trying, and I've tried not to let him, but I haven't been doing a very good job," Peter said. "I'll start now. I'll protect you."

I bit my lip. "Are you sure we should leave? I mean, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD? He's using you like a bloody punching bag and you say it's NOT THAT BAD?"

I flinched. "He's just being an idiot, that's all. It doesn't even hurt that bad."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and breathed out an angry breath. "We are leaving and you are never seeing him again."

He rambled on about how we were going to escape until my water turned frigid. Then I got out and pretended like the rest of the day was normal. Mother told Byron that Peter had asked for a night with his twinsie, me, and he couldn't say no.

He whispered in my ear, "You're going to come to my castle next week, you won't get out of it there." It was funny, he never directly said what he did to me. I was twelve then and he was fifteen. I looked about eight because I'd always been small.

Peter's room was on the third floor, and Byron's was on the fifth. We waited well into the night to make our escape. We tiptoed out of the house, we didn't have much time to plan. Some of Peter's old clothes fit me pretty well, as he was always taller than me.

"We need to cut your hair off." I just nodded. I'd known that was coming.

He got out the scissors and actually did a pretty decent job. I looked like any normal boy. We switched out our royal clothes for something that blended. Peasant clothes, one might say.

We lived on the streets for a while, evading capture, having fun… but about a year later Peter got it in his head that we should go back and see what Mother and Father were up to. I thought it risky, but I went along with it.

We looked in on them. They had a new baby in their arms. They weren't sad at all. We looked in the window that used to be our bedroom. It was now a bright nursery for a baby boy.

We ran and hid far away then. We didn't want to see it. We didn't want to admit our parents forgot about us. We were thirteen then.

We said, 'Fine, they forgot us, we'll forget them.' And not long after we stumbled upon the orb.

**This has nothing to do with the Sci Fy's version of Neverland, I'm just using the Orb idea.**

**Review if you think it's good or horrible. Don't save my feelings. Be honest.**

***Ducks for flying tomatoes. **


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